Author's Note: Guess who missed her mental deadline again? Ay yi, yi… Sorry about that. This is a few days overdue! I don't do enough with Toothless, do I? Well, welcome to the obligatory Toothless arc, ladies and germs. This will most likely end up being a two-parter rather than an arc (I just like calling things arcs; it sounds so structurally fancy, ya' know?) that is centric to Hiccup and Toothless. Solely because I really don't do enough with the two of them and Toothless is a really important figure in Hiccup's life and character (movie wise, and story wise) and that is seriously not cool. The title is actually from the How to Train Your Dragon soundtrack (when he finds Toothless in the caltrops; I feel clever), and it has no lyrics so it can be as relevant as I need it to be. Mwah ha ha.
Basic Overview: Hiccup is having a hard time falling back into the swing of things, and his list of troubles is only increasing.
Point of View: 3rd person: Hiccup/Jack
Warnings: Minor panic attack
Age Reminder: Jack is 13 (8th grade); Hiccup is 12 (8th grade); Emma is 11 (6h grade)
**Note: I'll be going back to fix their ages within the next few days, so if this looks wrong, well… that's what I'm doing. Math errors I need to fix and what not.**
Chapter 29: The Downed Dragon
September 23rd
It's funny, really, how seldom September brings joy.
Freedom and the pleasant warmth of summer cringed as August rolled in, the Sunday of months itself announcing its grand interest with "Back to School" sale commercials on TV. It was a bitter reminder of the boys' last year in Burgess Middle School, with every towering row of red x's bringing a growing dread as weeks flew by like seconds and days gradually dimmed to 7:30 dusks and 6:50 dawns. The idea of returning to classes and riding the bus at what looked like night was certainly a dreadful one; but the conquest of August proved to be a celebratory occasion as well. Little had they known they would be mighty 8th graders as they walked through the doors and marched across the linoleum, a class of survivors to the horrors of middle school. Since… well, it was honestly and truly an awkward point in their lives—full of squeaky voices and the increasing amount of awkward stares Jack got during classes from his female classmates—but a necessary rung on the ladder of their individual stories.
August was the month of dread, full of tedious school shopping with North and the gradual graces of amber on the trees. It was debriefing Emma on the confusions of 6th grade, and Jack having to subtly explain that she was going to have to sit through a few "awkward videos" (his words, verbatim) without actually telling her about them (mostly out of his own embarrassment at recalling the 45 minutes of torture called health class). The wind rolled in colder as the morning chills grew unreasonably cold; August was the month of indecisive weather patterns, so you could wear a sweater in the morning with a rippling shiver but ache with crippling heat by noon. Naturally, this was frustrating for Henrik as it gave him an excuse to wear sweaters for only about four glorious hours, and have to roll up his jeans by the time the bell rang at 2:45. Next door, Jack rejoiced that it was allegedly "hoodie season" and (despite the wet grass in the morning and the sudden drop in temperature) hopped around in the yard without his shoes on. Was this a surprise? Not really, considering this it's Jack we're talking about.
September came in the blink of an eye. It forced a 10pm bedtime on the neighboring households (that in reality, no one abided) and a 6am wake-up call unto the preteens, ushering in Emma's entrance to Burgess Middle School. She rose beside her brother at sunrise and groggily groaned as she wobbled into the kitchen, hair a scraggly mess of auburn tangles on her head. Jack sniggered as she complained about waking up early. He slinked an arm around her shoulder and promised to help her around school if she needed anything with a kiss to her forehead. They gobbled down two bowls of Cookie Crisp and hurried outside.
The first day of 8th grade was boasting.
It was proudly marching room to room as a member of school's top class, and showing off his shiny blue braces to Leon at lunchtime. It was moaning irritably when he failed to make a comment. It was bickering with Emma about which way her Math class was, complaining when the girl ended up being right and stomping off to his own Math class when she skipped down the hall. It was Leon constantly shaking his head with a smug little grin when Jack asked him to "just say something already, gosh darnit!"
September passed with hard work and homework. The boys managed to stay up-to-speed with their classes, and even Jack made an effort to get his work done on time. Of course, it helped that Emma nagged him about it at every opportunity she could, but at least he got it done. The first few weeks passed, and by the 20th things had fallen into their usual sway. Jack sprinted down the halls to get to his classes (after spending most of the time talking to his peers by the locker), while Henrik wobbled room to room with no problems. His legs consistently pulsed with a sharp, stabbing pain at the strangest of times, so by the 20th he and the nurse knew each other by name—most of the time his teachers had no idea what to do when he claimed his leg hurt; instinct must've said "just send him to the nurse", which got him and one lucky classmate out of working.
It was a rainy September, with a down pour coming at the most random of times. On the 19th, the morning looked sunny. Beams of a radiant blue sky poured through the windows and illuminated the classrooms, shining along the linoleum in geometric glimmers. The school was pleasantly warm for about two periods, until Henrik strolled into the Library with Jack and just outside the windows they could hardly make out the back of the school from the falling wall of rain that came. Suffice to say, recess was indoors that afternoon, and Jack had to sneak out of his assigned classroom to go find his best friend. Leon even tagged along, quietly following the mischievous brunet into Henrik's room with a guilty lowering of his eyes. The room's recess aid ended up catching both of them, and—while Leon got out with a warning (since he was such an angel, apparently)—Jack ended up getting sent to the office. North got a call about his "irresponsible stunt" and Henrik could only assume he got scolded for it later. Which really didn't make sense, now that he thought about it; he walked into another room, not robbed a bank!
The 23rd rolled in rather quickly; Henrik woke up to dark skies and thunderstorm warnings on the weather channel. He rolled out of bed (literally; he nearly smacked his forehead against the nightstand in the process) and crawled over to his prosthetic, sliding it on and deciding to himself that he'd get dressed after he ate. As he hobbled down the stairs, he heard Toothless yip and whimper, scratching at the front door for him to let him out. Of course, the crippled brunet wobbled over to the coffee table and grabbed his leash, hooking it onto the ring on his collar to bring him outside. The little warrior pulled him around the yard and did his business, eventually trotting up the front steps and sitting by the door once again until Henrik let him in.
"Yeah, good morning to you too…" he yawned, stretching his arms out. The black dog barked as if to respond. Henrik mocked the call tiredly. "Arrah rah rah rah. Sheesh, someone's awful chatty."
He cracked open the door, and Toothless skipped through the opening, sitting on the floor with a wagging tail as his master leaned down to unclip his leash. The second the metal scraped, the little warrior yipped and hurried into the kitchen. Henrik followed him in and fixed himself a bowl of cereal, gobbling it down quickly. He rubbed at his eyes after carefully placing his bowl in the sink (he'd wash it later; god dang he was tired). Toothless stared up at him with wide, green eyes.
The freckled brunet chuckled, leaning down to pat the top of his head. "You think Dad's home?"
His ears went back, head tilting downward in an almost apologetic manner.
"…yeah, I didn't either," Henrik sighed. The notion didn't surprise him by now, since his father had mentioned taking longer shifts at dinner one night, and—he sorrowfully announced—he wouldn't be home as often as he used to be. What exactly that equated to the boy wasn't sure (he was hardly home as it is), but he decided to ignore it. He was used to living with just Toothless or the occasional pop-in from Jack (I use the word occasional very loosely; Jack was pretty much over at every possible moment he could be) as his only source of company. Being alone wasn't that big of a deal as he got older.
He glanced at the clock and squinted, just barely making out a bright red 7:10. Realizing that the bus would be there in five minutes, he raced up the stairs (tripping on the top step and crashing into the floor face-first in the process; stupid leg…) and plucked the first thing he could find out of his dresser. It ended up being one of his long-sleeved dragon-shirts and a pair of dark blue jeans (both articles being torn in at least two different places). He tugged on a loose green hoodie and slung his backpack over his right shoulder, cringing when the worn-out fabric hollered and tore from the impact and pull. Remembering the mention of a high thunderstorm warning he'd caught from his alarm clock clicking on the radio, he stuffed his little dragon into the raggedy black bag and sprinted out of his room, zipper still split and slightly open. Toothless watched his master hurry across the living room with a curious glint to his bright green eyes, and yipped when the clumsy brunet hollered back, "Be back in a bit, bud."
Jack must have overslept too, since Henrik stepped onto the porch and could actually hear Emma and him bickering from across the yard. The Overland's front door cracked open and the noise flooded out as they stepped onto the porch, as well as a loud "WOULD YOU TWO QUIT IT ALREADY" from North, whose Russian accent went booming between the houses as he hollered from the window. Almost immediately, the siblings stopped and called back in unison, "Sorry, North!" (Though his name was muddled with a "Dad" from Emma, much to Henrik's delight). The second he shut his window and disappeared from their line of sight, Jack stuck out his tongue and Emma smacked him in the arm. He yelped and rubbed at the blow, his eyes finally meeting his best friend's neighboring form. He waved lazily with his free hand, grinning lopsidedly at the boy. The bus came at 7:15 as usual, and the three of them filed onto the bus.
Henrik was having what you might call an uh… a rough day.
His leg locked up on his way to Math, resulting in him clumsily collapsing onto the ground and scattering his books all over the floor. A few of his passing classmates glared at him funny, a few of them laughing about how he was "such a freaking klutz" or making a snarky quip such as, "Well, down goes the cripple". Leon was probably the only one who took pity on him and helped him gather his books, pointing down the hall toward the nurse's office as if to ask if he needed to go there. Naturally, the boy gave him a smile and declined the offer, shuffling onto his feet (with a hand from the seemingly mute blond) with a wobble and sharp zap in the stump. He gathered his books into his arms and grit his teeth with each step toward the math room, doing a mental happy dance when he finally reached his desk and was able to sit down. The period ended with the bell, and his leg was complaining, already aching from what would be a long walk to the Library. The good news was that he had Jack in that class and the thought calmed him down when a twinge of panic settled as he stood.
Henrik wobbled into the Library with an ache in his jaw; when he asked, apparently grinding his teeth so much would give him a headache (according to Jack, the alleged "master" of these things), and if he was struggling with an anxiety issue, he needed to find some other way to cope with it. Jack was very understanding to his situation, and offered to carry him to the nurse if he really needed him to. The offer meant a lot, and yes, he did appreciate that Jack was so worried but he ended up declining it; their peers thought they were weird as it was, and the last thing Henrik needed was more rumors floating around the class about the two of them. By the time the period ended, his eyes were locked on the on-and-off rainfall outside the window. There was a lack of lightning, and a comfortable silence in the sky. He was comforted by the lack of storming, and when he strolled to his locker to switch out his books his eyes widened with utter embarrassment when he noted the stuffed dragon had fallen out of his bag.
It was perched on top of his massive stack of books, in such a way that if anyone were to pass by or peek in they'd probably see it. With flushed cheeks and an embarrassing train of thought, Henrik hurriedly scooped it up and (glancing to his sides through his peripherals) gently laid it in the backpack once more. He glanced to his right and jumped out of his skin when he noticed Jack there.
The older boy smiled. "Hey Hiccup~"
"Hi Jack!" Henrik replied, perhaps a bit too loudly as he instinctively pulled the locker door closer to him. He chuckled nervously when Jack gave him a funny look, glancing at his backpack and noting how the dragon will still visible in the top pocket. "S-sheesh, did you have to sneak up on me?
Jack blinked, narrowing his eyes a bit at his friend. With a snigger, he countered, " 'course I did." He gestured toward his bad leg with one hand, curling the other around his rather impressive stack of books clutched firmly against his chest. "How's your leg doin'? Any better than before?"
Henrik curled his fingers around the metal door, subtly tugging it closer to his chest as he tapped the metal end against the floor. "Still a little sore. It's sorta in and out."
"Weird," the older boy shrugged, pursing his lips as he rolled between the balls of his feet and his heels. "Well hey, if it gets too bad you should go to the nurse. I bet she'll let you go home early if you ask nice enough."
"Eh… I'd rather not," he sighed, easing his grip on the door. "Dad's busy with work and eh… I'd rather not bug him unless it's an emergency. Plus we have a quiz in Social studies, and I don't wanna have to take it later."
Jack groaned, dramatically tossing his head back. "Aw man I forgot about that! Hic~cup can I borrow your book? I left mine at home."
The last bit came out rather whiny, earning a snigger from the younger brunet. "You didn't bring it?"
"No, I didn't think we'd need it!"
"Jack that's not an excuse."
"Hey, someone told me we were watching a movie today!"
"Yeah, they probably meant after the quiz."
"…well crap."
Henrik laughed at his friend's clumsy folly, shaking his head from side to side. Without consciously thinking about it, he swung open his locker door and tugged his history book out, immediately regretting it when he noted Jack's eyes fixated on the little black dragon sticking out of his backpack. Great. Just great. The younger boy sighed, smacking himself in the forehead for the dumb mistake.
The blue-eyed brunet narrowed his eyes, knocking his knuckles into his friend's shoulder as if to regain his attention. "What uh… what's with the guard-dragon?"
Maybe he could play it off, like Jack did a few times when North came to ask him about his antics around the house?
"…I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Really. So I'm guessing your dragon just kinda flew into your bag, huh?"
"…yes?"
Jack dead-panned. "Hiccup."
Or not.
Henrik handed him his history book and shut his locker with a groan. "Yeah, okay—I brought the dragon to school."
Jack sniggered, elbowing his friend in the arm playfully. "Dude, seriously?"
"Hey, the forecast said there's a chance of thunderstorms today." He defended, tucking the little toy further into his bag. "It... seemed like a good idea at the time."
Jack opened his mouth to say something but stopped himself, settling on a nod and shrug instead. "I guess that makes sense…" he mumbled under his breath.
The older boy closed his friend's locker for him and smiled.
"So~ you study for the history quiz? 'cuz I'm completely screwed over."
The day was long and tedious, classes passing and dragging like hours.
As far as Henrik was concerned, he couldn't wait to go home and (circumstances permitting, of course) take a nap. The idea of popping off his dumb prosthetic to relax was inviting, since his leg had been killing him all day. He could still feel his stump throbbing, swelling with pain and sending electric jolts zapping all the way up his leg—even when he was sitting down. Jack and Leon sat by him on the bleachers during gym; the older brunet continuously asked him if he was okay. Henrik reassured him he was fine and laughed, when Leon still wouldn't talk (earning a frustrated "OH COME ON ALREADY" from his friend). The idiot was persistent on getting him to at least laugh—so he jabbed him in the sides and wiggled his fingers, earning a muffled squeak from the blond. They swatted each other until the teacher had to pry them apart; Leon and Jack ended up having to run a lap as punishment. They made it back and Jack would not stop groaning. Leon quietly gasped for air, joining the brunet when he opted to lie on the floor.
Astrid popped in to make sure he was okay, and gave him a quick hug before darting toward the locker room. That definitely put a smile on his face, until the bell rang and Henrik could have cried when he had to walk to his locker. Jack and Leon were nice enough to let him lean on their shoulders, and the three of them made their way down the hall. Jack offered to carry him (princess style, as he called it) if his leg was that bad, but Henrik ultimately declined. Of course, the boy's previous protests didn't stop him from tugging him by the arms onto his back when they got off the bus to their stop; literally, he plucked him out of the seat and shuffled him onto his back, forcing the younger to cling to his neck for dear life and complain as they shuffled through the aisle. A few of the girls in the front row giggled, but Jack just threw them a cheeky smile. Henrik hid his face.
He shuffled through the front door (after thanking his friend for the "help" and making sure he got into his house with Emma alright), only to groan when he noted Toothless waiting for him.
He had a leash between his teeth (how he tugged it off the wall hook, the boy would never know) green eyes pleading and wide as he wagged his little tail back and forth. To be frank, the sight was adorable; but at the same time frustrating, since Henrik had just gotten back and his leg was still sore. The freckled preteen ran a hand through his hair and sighed, waving the other at the little warrior as if to dismiss him. "Come on, bud; I just got back…" he all but whined, leaning down to tug off his shoe when he noticed how Toothless's ears tilted back. He whimpered, stepping closer with his head bowed.
Okay, this is seriously not fair! How the heck was Henrik supposed to argue with that face?
Slumping his shoulders and minding his backpack straps as they fell further down his arms, the brunet sighed. "Can I at least put my stuff down?"
Toothless yipped, scurrying toward the door. Tugging the leash out of his mouth, Henrik shook his head with a low chuckle. He clipped his collar onto the end of the leash. "Okay, I guess we're walking first."
The air was cool against the boy's flushed skin, like a sweet autumn reprieve from his frustrating day.
With Toothless leading him down the road, Henrik wobbled along the sidewalk and watched him scurry around; sniffing just about every single Stop sign and bush they passed for no real reason. Sure, he was reluctant to walk the little guy before; but now that he was out of the house, he felt oddly relaxed, limbs lax despite their movement (and the weight of his backpack, which he never really ended up shrugging off like he wanted to) and thoughts a dim slur he could hardly distinguish. It felt nice to get away, to aimlessly stroll down the street with his canine companion and forget about the horrific tower of homework he had to finish up at home. Instead, he was free to let his thoughts wander down unusual paths while Toothless merrily trotted around the worn-down concrete.
Henrik rolled down his sleeves while the little dog inspected a pile of leaves, sighing contently as a cool breeze rolled in and raked Goosebumps down his now cozily warm arms.
Toothless trotted ahead merrily, wagging his tail from side to side with a bounce in each step. Henrik found himself smiling at the sight; at least the little dog was having a good time. Everything was great in his world; the sky was blue and his buddy was home—all was well in the little dog's universe. He sniffed everything he could wiggle his little nose into. As they rounded a corner, Henrik felt his knee lock up. His leg wobbled, knee locked with a sharp knock that felt like someone had smacked it with a board and let him stand with it afterward. Henrik groaned, wiggling the limb but cringing at the increasing pain and the intense, sharpening throbs. Slowing his steps hardly eased the pain and—despite Toothless excitedly parading onward—he stopped in his tracks, leaning down to rub at his knee with his free hand. The leash caught in his other, jerking him a bit as the black fur-ball tried to continue onward.
"H-h-hang on a s—ehhhhhh-sec, bud," he whimpered, shifting in his prosthetic a bit in the hopes a pebble or miniscule interference would fall out. Nothing came, and the ache in his leg sharpened, sparking some horrid throb in his stump that was quickly becoming unbearable. He kicked it, stretched it the way the doctors had taught him but nothing seemed to help; rather, the muscles tightened, constricted, squeezed with such force it left him ready to scream in pain.
It didn't feel like a phantom sensation, or any kind of muscle tearing; his leg just hurt, and his mind was unable to register why. Either way, it really needed to stop.
"S-S-sorry bud," he apologize to the concerned little dog, gently tugging the least to signal for him to head back. Toothless whimpered, ears tilting back sadly. We go-ah-tta cut your walk short, 'kay?"
He turned, registering a light, sort of plush ksh from behind him, but ignoring it as his leg ached and begged for him to stop moving. Toothless perked his ears, tried to walk in the other direction as Henrik wobbled back down the road, toward the house. He pulled at the leash, yipping pathetically and yanking as he tried to hurry back. The little dog seemed desperate to slip away, running and barking the other way despite how many times the freckled preteen asked him to stop or tugged at his leash a bit. "Toothlessssss… we gotta go back."
Henrik winced as a particularly sharp pulse in his leg raked an electric wave of pain up and down the limb. He tried to favor the leg, focusing his weight on the right leg. Toothless protested, insisting he run in the other direction. He looked up at the boy and let his ears droop, pouting and whimpering. With a wag of his tail, he hopped alongside his master as he wobbled back down the sidewalk. Henrik swallowed the growing lump in his throat, fought back the slight panic settling in the pit of his belly. He reminded himself that he wasn't that far from the house, that he just had to get there and sit down; when he got back, he could call his Dad and tell him about his leg, they could go to the doctor… there was nothing to worry about, he had to remember.
It took him a few minutes and a break or two to get there, nearly stumbling and falling onto the pavement with a few tries.
After what must have been ten minutes (but really, the pain and panic made it feel like an hour) of hobbling down the asphalt, he managed to slip through the front door; Toothless immediately ran inside, excitedly scampering around in the kitchen. Henrik groaned, picking up a house phone and trudging up the stairs. He bit back tears, chewing on his bottom lip as he made his way to his room. He shrugged off his backpack, ignoring the loud thump that came from doing so. The freckled preteen immediately collapsed onto the bed, hurriedly tugging off his prosthetic with a frustrated whimper. His leg complained, throbbed in protest of movement and he felt every muscle in his body tense from the electric zaps of pain running up and down body. Oh gods it hurt, worse than any Charlie-horse or bump against the wall he'd ever gotten.
Tap, tap, tap.
Oh gods, Jack couldn't have picked a better time to come and bother him. Sure enough, Henrik turned to the window and spotted his dorky, lop-sided smile and threw him a quick thumbs up as if to say "yeah, it's cool; come in". The older brunet slid through the window, a thick math book full of crumpled papers hugged close to his chest with both arms. He waved lazily with one hand, furrowing his eyebrows as he glanced down at the book.
"Sorry to bug you Hic, but I cannot get this freaking equation on the homework and it is driving me nuts and—" his voice trailed as he brought his eyes up to meet Henrik's. "…hey, are you okay?"
He meant to give a nod and brush it off, but Henrik could feel the lump in his throat settling at the question. His voice cracked pathetically, "P-peachy."
"You sure? Dude, you look like you're gonna cry or something."
Henrik lowered his eyes to his stump, cringing and biting back a whimper as yet another shock rippled through his leg.
Jack followed his eyes and gingerly placed his book on his desk. He softened his previously tense gaze and leisurely strolled over, sitting on the edge of his bed. "Your leg still hurts, huh?"
The younger could only manage a nod. His voice cracked pathetically, "Really, really bad."
"Is there something I can like… do to help?"
"Uh…" Henrik wasn't entirely sure of that either. Usually when his leg hurt, he just asked for his Dad to give him an Advil and went on his merry way; now that the pain was about ten times worse than a usual throb, he wasn't sure what to do. "I dunno, can you get me a painkiller?"
"Yeah, no problem!" Jack waved his hand, strolling out of the room for a brief moment. He popped his head in the door again, smiling crookedly. "…Remind me again where they are?"
"Bathroom cabinet."
He threw him a thumbs-up and skipped down the hall, with a rhythmic patting of his feet against the hardwood floor. After a moment (and the distant rattle of him assumedly looking at the different pill bottles), he yelled, "Got it!"
Jack gingerly slipped a small blue Advil into his palm, using the other hand to unscrew the top of his water bottle. He handed it to his friend and smiled thinly. "Here."
"Thanks," Henrik nodded, slipping the pill onto the tip of his tongue and guzzling it down with a mouthful of water. From the corner of his eye, he could see Jack staring at him, watching him with concern and care. It made his lips twitch unconsciously, since the matter was so trivial (well… his leg definitely said otherwise, but ya' know) but he seemed so excessively worried.
"Need anything else?" Jack asked. He kicked his foot back and forth with his head bowed apologetically, like a child waiting for his parent's instruction.
The younger boy shook his head. "No, but thank you."
"Um…" Jack scratched at the back of his head and awkwardly turned his shoulders. "…want me to stick around until your Dad gets back or somethin'? I-I mean, I don't want you mopin' around all by yourself. Especially with your leg being all… weird and stuff."
The notion brought a smile to the boy's lips despite the pain. "Please?" he bowed his head with a pleading, crooked grin. "I mean, if it's okay with you—"
"'course it is!" He reassured with a smile, sitting on the bed's edge. Jack leaned against one arm straightened, the palm supporting his weight against the comforter. His fingers curled into his palm beside Henrik's, nervously curving and unfurling as if he weren't sure what he was doing with them. If Henrik hadn't known any better, he'd say his friend was trying to hold his hand or something but decided against it, simply by observing his body language and the nervous twitch in his lips.
Henrik let his head roll back into his pillow, taking a deep breath through the staggering pain in his left leg. "Actually, can you get my backpack from downstairs, please? I uh… I left my dragon in it."
Jack nodded without a word, hopping down the stairs and (after a loud bark from Toothless, and a few scuffs of his nails against the floor) yelped, shooing the little guard-dog away. The younger brunet laughed in his spot on the bed, stifling his laughter when his best friend returned. He held up the bag by one of the straps, wincing when the zip of a tear echoed through the air. He mouthed a silent "Sorry" and placed it on the end of the bed, rummaging through it. Henrik patiently waited, wiggling his toes and twiddling his thumbs idly. After a few moments, he noted the tense look on the older brunet's face, his eyebrows furrow and a determined frown stretched across his lips. He raised an eyebrow. "Uh… something wrong?"
"You sure you put your dragon in your backpack?" Jack asked, tugging out a few books and gingerly placing them on the floor as he looked into the bag once more.
For a split second, Henrik panicked. "Y…eah, why?"
"I… don't see it in here. The big pocket, right?"
The freckled preteen scooted closer, stretching his back so he could peek inside too. He affirmed with a worried nod, watching Jack rummage through and sift through crumpled papers to find it. They emptied the pocket, literally holding it upside down and letting its fillings fall out; unfortunately, neither of them caught sight of a dragon. They exchanged a worried glance and started unzipping the other pockets, on the off-chance that maybe Henrik remembered his actions wrong, and it was somehow in the small, cell-phone sized zip pocket on the side.
"There is no way; I definitely left it in my backpack," Henrik insisted, unzipping and hurriedly rummaging through his bag. Every empty pocket mocked him, vacantly reminded him the consequence of his lost dragon; he prayed to Odin subconsciously and tugged open the front pocket. His heart sank. Nothing. "Oh no," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head from side to side. "No, no, no, no—I definitely left it here!"
Henrik could feel the panic settling, rattling his bones and thumping his heart into a hasty ba-bump he was sure Jack could hear. For a moment, he felt heavy—guilty, even. Jack must have noticed his dismay, and placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him. He held up the other as if to say stop. "Hey, no worries," the older reassured, smiling crookedly as if he was unsure of what he was saying. "There's gotta be some kinda explanation to this."
Jack held up his backpack, scanning every stitch and strap carefully like the detectives in the cartoons the two of them watched in the morning. He narrowed his eyes as if squinting would activate some unknown, dragon-seeking vision of his; as his eyes found the bottom of his backpack, they widened significantly, his usually bright blue irises frosting over as his shoulders tensed and his body froze. Henrik gulped. That could not be a good sign.
"Uh… Hiccup?"
"What?"
Jack tipped the bag toward him, the zippers clanging upside-down. The freckled brunet's stomach turned. Right on the bottom was a giant, gaping hole in the fabric, a pencil barely tipping out of it (eventually succumbing to gravity's might and falling to the bed sheets) and the once woven strands frayed.
Oh no. No, no, no.
The panic came with a single observation. His thoughts spun on edge and the ache in his leg spread, intensified, flourished further up his body until he could feel each pulse in his brain. He could feel the lump in his throat and his hands shaking. Jack's face fell. He plopped the bag on the floor and put a hand on his friend's shoulder soothingly. "Hey, hey, hold on a minute!" the older interjected as if he'd read his thoughts. "You… probably just dropped it on the way in. It could've fallen in the living room while you were wobbling around, right?"
He couldn't quite muster a response, just nodded emptily and stared at Jack's concerned expression.
"So, i-it's probably on the floor somewhere in the living room, or it fell on the porch or in the yard or… I dunno, something."
Henrik nodded again. Jack bit his bottom lip, shoulders slumping.
"I'm gonna go check downstairs for you, 'kay? Don't. Move! I mean it!" he patted his friend on the head and rushed down the stairs.
The silence of his room while Jack poked his head out the front door and ran around the living room frantically haunted him. The four corners of his room felt lonesome, devoid of any company—conceptual or physical. The panic pounding his heart against his chest was starting to get to him, acutely reminding him of every dull zap in his bad leg despite the painkiller gradually taking effect. He could feel the weight of dread on his shoulders, could feel the growing guilt in his bones for losing the last piece of his mother he had left. It stung, sharp but somehow stagnant and lingering. Henrik shut his eyes and tried to focus his attention on the sound of Toothless yipping at Jack downstairs (why he hated him so much, the boy would never know) and the muffled complaints he got in response. It reminded him that he wasn't entirely alone, and that so long as someone was there he'd be alright, that if anything he still had his friend to lean on and he'd be back in just a second.
Now don't get me wrong; it wasn't that Henrik didn't like being alone. He'd been alone a lot over the past few years, and had grown accustom to the silence of his house, and all the meaningless small-talk between him and his father (with the occasional pop-in while he was doing homework) that came with it. Well… alright, maybe not completely alone. Jack had a marvelous habit of barging in or "kidnapping" him in the afternoons, perhaps out of his own boredom or for some obscure reason the younger boy couldn't quite make out. And yeah, Toothless was his house companion; he barked when the mailman came and demanded attention when Henrik was feeling blue. He definitely kept the boy busy, and man did he appreciate that. But when it came to the nights and mornings that Dad wasn't there, when Jack was taking care of Emma or off on his own mischievous tirades, when Toothless was dozing off or trotting around in the kitchen, Henrik was fine on his own—he'd always been fine on his own. That's just the way he was; self-reliant and independent, with a little stitched guard-dragon to keep watch from his bedpost.
But now that it was gone, that lone remnant of his mother that kept an eye on him while she couldn't, while Jack or Dad or Toothless weren't around… he felt lonely—for only a moment, but it stuck with him, somehow. And it was then he realized feeling alone and being alone were two different things entirely.
Being alone was easy to handle; Henrik was good at keep himself busy, whether that be some form of procrastination (hey, the Language Arts homework gets pretty dry, ya' know) or menial task his father had asked him to do the day before, he was able to keep himself preoccupied. He liked to tinker with an old radio they kept in the living room, toyed with the gears or sometimes just took it apart and put it together again. Of course, it didn't work after dismantling it so many times; trial and error had stripped a few of the bolts and worn down a spring that came out of the battery-compartment (he had a bad habit of pushing it to the floor with his finger and making it bounce up). But something about it was relaxing, in a way. It was something to focus on, if that made any sense. Other days, he worked up the courage to go knock on Jack's window, or tapped on the front door like a normal person would to ask North if he and Emma wanted to hang out. If they weren't home or Jack had gotten in some kind of trouble, he could take Toothless for a walk or read a book with his dragon curled under his arm. No big deal.
But feeling alone was tricky. It was heavy on his heart, weighed him down like walking into the air conditioning after getting really wet. It was haunting, in its own way, yet empty at the same time. Henrik didn't like it. It felt like he was sitting in the hospital bed again, staring out the window in the silence with not even a nurse for company. And for a split second, he wondered if that was the feeling Jack hated so much.
Henrik snapped from his daze as his best friend trudged up the stairs with a delay in each step, as if he were dragging himself back up. He walked into his room with his head bowed apologetically, eyes lowered to the floor and darting up to look at the younger brunet with hesitance. He almost didn't want to ask, but the younger managed out, "Did you find it?"
Jack shook his head gravely.
Author's Note: Wow the last part was over-dramatic. Sorry. Trying to make a point. So does the title make sense now? Sorry for the late update; I had some trouble on this, so I might just end up cutting this into a three-parter instead of just two. Or two, but the next is longer? I'm not sure, but I'll let you know; the hospital arc wasn't meant to be as long as it was, so for all we know this could be a longer arc than I anticipated. Nevertheless, thank you for the reviews and for reading!
Also, I'm considering a Beta? I'm getting really bad about revising.
